


Healing

by Fyre



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Dark One Belle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-09
Updated: 2012-11-09
Packaged: 2017-11-18 08:02:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/558689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, even when we want to put it behind us, we cannot escape our demons.</p><p>A short follow-on story set after <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/549416">Not Broken</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Healing

It was never going to be simple

Belle knew that from the moment she saw Rumpelstiltskin, from the moment he touched her hand, from the brief, gentle brush of his lips over hers.

In her heart, she knew she wanted nothing more than to be held close in his arms, but when she tried to think beyond simple, chaste embraces, it felt like mind and body became disjointed, and she would freeze, silent and tense.

If even the thought of it was enough to make terror turn her to stone, she didn’t know how he could be patient enough to help her beat the fear back to simply be held.

The first night that they were all together was made simple. They sat and talked into the small hours of the morning, and when they grew tired, Bae latched onto his father’s arm. Grown he might be, but he had missed his father. 

“Together?” he asked quietly, hopefully. “All of us?”

Belle’s bed was large for such a small person, super-Kingsize, and she wasn’t going to deny Bae the chance to curl against his father, as he had when he was a child, even if now, his gangly frame made it look incongruous. 

All the same, even when dressed from head to foot in the least alluring pyjamas known to mankind - pale blue with pink roses printed on them - she stood three feet from the bed, twisting her hands together in front of her.

Rumpelstiltskin, already sprawled on his back, looked over at her. He sat up, pulling one of the pillows from behind him, and placed it along his side beneath the blankets, a tangible barrier. There would be no contact unless she chose to initiate it.

Belle’s eyes pricked with tears, and she crept closer to the bed. She kept her gaze averted as she slipped between sheets and blankets, putting her back to both of them. It was enough to know they were there, but with the pillow in place, she could feel safe.

Still, some time in the quiet of the night, when she could hear them both breathing peacefully, she turned to her back, then to her side, and lifted her head to look at them, father and son together. Bae was curled so tightly against his father, it was hard to believe they could ever be parted again. Rumpelstiltskin’s arm was around Bae’s shoulder and his cheek was against his son’s crown. 

His other hand, though, was lying beside the wall created by the pillow between them. It was palm up, fingers loosely uncurled, and gentle and harmless as it had always been.

Belle’s breath trembled across her lips, and it took all the little courage she had to reach over that barrier and slip her hand into his. His palm was warm and dry, and his fingers curled around her hand, even in his sleep.

It felt right, to be there, to be holding his hand, to hear him breathe while he slept.

Somehow, eventually, she too slept. 

It was broken, with nightmares snapping her eyes open so she could be sure she was not alone again, but it was better than going without. When her alarm shrilled, she was out of the bed before Rumpelstiltskin or Bae opened their eyes.

It was stupid to be so afraid after so innocent and safe a night, and yet, the fear remained.

Day by day, it grew a little easier until Bae chose to sleep in another room, leaving them alone for the first time.

The pillow remained between them, but now, when she crawled into the bed, she faced him, she took his hand at once, and they lay quietly together. He would never push her, she knew that now, but he was waiting for her, and that dazed her.

“Are you happy?” he asked quietly as they lay in the darkness.

The ball of her thumb cautiously circled his knuckle. “I think so,” she said quietly. “I don’t know what it’s meant to feel like.”

Gently, giving her every chance to pull away, he drew her hand to his lips and kissed the back of her palm.

Belle trembled, but didn’t tug her hand back. The brief brush of lips to flesh sent a warm tingle through her, and it wasn’t from fear. He laid her hand back down with his, over his heart and looked at her, and smiled.

“N-not yet,” she said, her breath catching. “Soon…”

“I know, love,” he said. “I can wait.”

She smiled as much as she could and he squeezed her fingers, and for a moment, she almost felt like she could be whole again.

They ventured out the next day.

Belle knew rumours had started, fanned by the whispers that she had been seen embracing this stranger, this man from the world outside. For all that she was reputed to be a man-eater, no one had ever seen her keep company with a man by choice.

For a town that had been nothing but cynics for three decades, suddenly it was considered all too likely that the Dark One had a true love, and that was the identity of the strange man who drew small, shy smiles from her.

They went to the diner, a safe spot, because the Sheriff had decreed it so. It was meant to be a neutral place, where people could meet and talk without fear of repercussions for past sins or offences, and that was they went in expecting. 

Bae accompanied them as far as the door, then sloped off to make cow’s eyes at Ruby, but Belle saw through his ploy. As much as he might want to talk to Ruby, he was just as keen to leave Belle alone with his father. Encouragement, he would call it. Embarrassingly transparent, was her view.

They had a booth. They had food. They almost looked like regular people.

It surprised her. It all did.

For all that she had been without him for centuries, and he had been without her for years, they fell back into the same patterns as they did in the Dark Castle, when she was mistress and he was friend. He spoke of his life, and gently drew flawed fragments of her own from her, somehow avoiding the pain she expected to come.

“He sounds like a good man,” he said when she spoke with quiet sorrow of her father.

“I think he was,” she said, turning the teacup with her fingertip. It hurt that she couldn’t remember the face of the man who had treasured her, but the faces of the men who had left her scarred and broken were clear as day in her mind. “I don’t remember.”

He hesitated, then asked, “How long?”

She raised her eyes to his face and tried to smile, but it faltered. “I don’t remember that either. A long time.”

He smiled for her. “Well,” he said, “you don’t look bad for your age.”

That earned a wan half-smile. “I’ll go and pay,” she said. “Meet me at the door?”

He nodded, as she slipped from the booth and made her way to the counter. She could tell people were watching, the timbre of whispers changing as she crossed the floor. She did her best to ignore it, for what they thought of her meant nothing, until a rough hand grabbed her shoulder.

Without even thinking, she had a knife from the counter, twisted in the grip of her assailant and had the blade braced with the serrated edge against his crotch, her other hand in his shirt, preventing him from fleeing. It took her a split second to recognise Leroy, the dwarf known as Grumpy, and she stared at him.

“Don’t touch me,” she said through clenched teeth.

“You have something of mine, sister,” he said, though his voice was shaking and he was rising on his toes to evade the blade. “I want it back.”

Belle’s breath was coming out fast and heavy, and she bared her teeth when another hand touched her shoulder, this one light, gentle.

“Belle,” Rumpelstiltskin said quietly. “Not here.”

She looked at him, the only man in all of Storybrooke who didn’t look at her with fear or contempt, and released a shaking breath. She lowered the blade and released Leroy’s shirt, and looked him in the eyes.

“If you want to talk business,” she said as steadily as she could, “my shop is open between ten and four. Otherwise, I think you should make sure our paths don’t cross again, understand?”

Leroy glanced warily at the blade she was turning in her hand, and there must have been something in her eyes that was much more frightening than a little brunette in a sundress. “I’ll see you at the store tomorrow,” he said, backing away. He turned and fled, almost tripping over a chair in his haste. 

Rumpelstiltskin’s hand was still resting lightly on her arm.

“We should go home,” she said quietly, setting the knife back down on the counter.

“Sounds good,” he said. His fingertips pressed so gently to guide her when she would have remained rooted to the spot, and he let her walk ahead of him. Her feet felt weighted with lead. She had been fool enough to believe she could put it all aside. 

The journey from diner to car and car to home passed her by.

It felt like she came back to herself after being at arm’s length when Rumpelstiltskin sat down beside her on the couch and set a cup of camomile tea into her hands. She wrapped her fingers around the china, looking at it in bewilderment. 

“Are you all right?”

She could have lied. She could have denied everything. She could have, but she didn’t.

“No,” she whispered. The teacup was trembling, and he put his hand carefully around hers to steady it. She looked at him, the man who was a coward, the man who had always known when she was afraid. “I’m scared, Rumpel.”

“Of that man?” Rumpelstiltskin asked.

She shook her head. “That I’ll never get rid of this,” she whispered. Her eyes were burning with tears and she looked down at the tea. “I got power. I thought it would make things better, but it only meant I had power.” She was trembling. “It didn’t undo anything or make the memories go away.”

He hesitated, then put his arm around her shoulders. “The memories can’t go,” he said quietly. “They’re part of you, and will always be part of you, no matter how much you hate them. You just need to find a way to control them, instead of letting them control you.”

She nodded, sipping the tea. He stroked her back gently, her brave little coward, unafraid even after seeing her take a blade to a man for daring to touch her. When the tea was half-drunk, she set the cup down.

Control the fear.

She swallowed hard, then drew her feet out of her shoes and up onto the couch and leaned into Rumpelstiltskin’s embrace. He froze, startled, then offered her his other hand, which she clung to like a lifeline, resting her head on his shoulder.

They were still there when Bae returned from the diner, worry written all over his face. 

“You’re okay?”

Rumpelstiltskin looked down at Belle. She didn’t need to lift her head to know it. “I think we will be,” he said quietly.

That night, when they went up to the bedroom they shared, he picked up the pillow to put their usual barrier in place.

“No,” Belle said quietly, twisting her hands together. “I-I don’t want it there.”

Rumpelstiltskin looked up at her. “Really?”

Belle bit her lip and nodded. “I don’t need it with you.”

He set the pillow back behind him and drew the blanket back for her. “I’m bonier than a pillow,” he warned her.

That drew a small, nervous smile to her lips. “I’d hope so,” she said, sitting down on the edge of the bed and taking a breath, before lifting her legs up into the bed and lying down beside him. “If… if I need to get up in the night, it’s not you.”

“I know,” he said, offering her his arm.

Belle’s heart was drumming against her ribs as she nestled down beside him and rested her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her, his fingers resting lightly on her shoulder, and… that was all. He didn’t pull her closer or even try to kiss her. That was all. 

She lay in the darkness, waiting for it all to go wrong, but he held her and she must have fallen asleep, because when she woke, daylight was breaking through the curtains and Rumpelstiltskin was snoring.

Belle sat up among the covers, just looking at him.

She wasn’t brave, even though people seemed to believe she was. But she could try to be brave, in the hopes that bravery would follow.

Belle leaned down over him and gently kissed him awake. Rumpelstiltskin stirred groggily, squinting at her.

“Morning,” she whispered, and kissed him again.

His arm went around her and though parts of her screamed to flee, she leaned down into his embrace, letting him hold her, letting him return the kiss, just letting them be together, safe and warm in her bed. She had kissed him. She had touched him. It was safe and it was fine.

It was a while before their lips parted long enough for him to reply with a sleepy “Morning.”

She snuggled closer to him, toying with his shirt. She propped her chin on her wrist, looking at him with nervous expectation. “You don’t mind?”

He smiled drowsily. “Being woken up by kisses from the woman I love? Why would I mind?”

Belle knew she was smiling like a love-struck fool. She hid her face in his chest, letting her hair fall forward to hide her, but she put her arm around his ribs and hugged him as tightly as she could. She felt his chuckle against her cheek and that made her smile even more.

After that night, the pillow was never a barrier again. 

She wouldn’t sleep easily, and often, there were nightmares, but that didn’t change the fact that he held her through them and soothed her until she could breathe easily. She wondered how she had managed to sleep alone for so long, but then she remembered all the nights of working herself to collapse. Sleep was for the weak, she told herself in those days, but in truth, sleep was for the brave.

One night, she shifted in her sleep, and his hand must have brushed across her bare back.

By the time she realised where she was, she was backed into the corner of the room, her chest tight with ragged gasping breaths, and Rumpelstiltskin was sitting up in the bed, one hand to his cheek, a startled look on his face. 

“Belle?” he said, moving to the edge of the bed. “Belle, are you all right?”

She shrank back, hands over her head, trembling. “Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t touch.”

“I won’t,” he said softly. “Did I hurt you?”

She pressed back against the wall, shaking, and sank to sit, her hands covering her face. Did I hurt you? He asked that? The only person to touch her with kindness along with Bae in her whole long and lonely life?

“No,” she whispered. “He did.”

“He?” Rumpelstiltskin remained where he was, still, patient, calm.

She forced herself to lower her hands, raising her eyes to him. Her vision was blurred with tears, and it was all such foolishness. “Commander Andos,” she whispered. “The Duke’s eldest son.” She laughed brokenly. “My commander.”

“The man who hurt you,” Rumpelstiltskin said.

She shook her head, unable to look at him. “The man who owned me,” she whispered. “You can’t hurt something that you own. It doesn’t count.”

“Belle,” Rumpelstiltskin’s voice came out in a breath. “Gods, Belle…”

She looked up at him, tears rolling down her cheeks. “If I was good, it didn’t hurt so much,” she whispered. “If I was good, he… he didn’t need to use the whip.” She drew a shaking breath, her voice quivering. Her mouth felt sticky and dry and her throat ached. “I tried to be good, but I… he found reasons.”

Rumpelstiltskin held out his hand to her, quiet invitation, and she struggled to her feet, making her way across the floor to lay her trembling fingers against his. Only when she got close enough did she see the marks of nails on his cheeks.

“Your face,” she whispered. 

“A small sacrifice,” he said gently. He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she said, tugging her hand back. “I can’t hurt you.”

Rumpelstiltskin patted the spot beside him on the bed. “This is nothing,” he said. “You were having a nightmare. It wasn’t on purpose.” He smiled sadly at her as she sat down beside him, an arm’s width between them. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Didn’t scare,” she whispered, twisting her hands together. “Touched.” She lifted one hand to scrub at her face. “My back.”

“Hurts?”

She looked at him, shook her head. She rose, her legs shaking, and turned her back on him, twisting the buttons of her pyjama top undone. Nakedness meant little to her, and there was nothing intimate about it, but if he saw, he would understand. She drew her hair over her right shoulder and shrugged her pyjama top off.

Rumpelstiltskin swore.

She had never heard him swear before.

“Ugly, I know,” she whispered, holding her pyjama top limply in one hand.

He was silent for a long time, then finally asked, “Can I touch?”

The idea, the thought, terrified her, but he couldn’t - wouldn’t - hurt her, not ever. 

“If I say no, you… you have to stop.”

“I understand,” he said. His hands came to rest gently on her hips, stroking so softly that she shivered. She heard the creak of the bed, felt the warmth of his breath an instant before his lips brushed across the scars of her beatings. It was soft, feather-soft, and it didn’t hurt, not even a little bit, and he didn’t flinch from them, disgusted.

“Rumpel…” she whispered, her voice catching.

“Don’t ever say any part of you is ugly,” he said quietly, slipping his arms loosely around her waist and resting his brow against her back. “You have scars. They show you’ve lived. You’ve survived. You’ve become strong.”

Her pyjama top dropped from her hand and she covered his hands where the crossed at her belly. “I’m not strong,” she whispered. “I have power, but that doesn’t make me strong.”

He kissed her back again, gently. “Even after all of this, you’ve learned to love and trust,” he said. “That’s strong.” She shivered as he spread one hand across her back, stroking so softly that it made her tremble. “That’s more beautiful than anyone’s appearance.”

She was crying in earnest, and when she turned in his arms, when she leaned down to kiss him, when he kissed her back, the fear didn’t matter. It was still there, but she could push it down and back, lock it up in the same place as she always had, and kiss him, because he loved her, because he didn’t fear her or hurt her or mock her. He touched her like she was worth something, and when she didn’t want him to, he stopped. 

And right now, she wanted him to touch her, and keep touching her. 

She pushed her hands against his shoulders. “Lie down with me,” she whispered.

He nodded, pushing the bedding aside and drawing her back into his arms. 

There was something more urgent in their kisses now, something she had gone without, been denied, for so many years. She tugged at the t-shirt he was wearing, dragging it up and over his head, throwing it aside, and all at once, flesh pressed to flesh.

Belle froze in his arms, trembling, staring at him wide-eyed.

“We can stop,” he said, breathing as raggedly as she was. “Anything you want.”

She rolled onto her back beside him, and looked at him. “T-touch me,” she whispered. “Let me feel what it can be like?”

He propped himself up on his arm. “Really?”

She nodded, lifting a hand to touch his cheek. “You won’t hurt me.”

He rubbed his cheek into her palm. “I’m not very good,” he said with a small, sweetly shy smile. “Not much practise.”

“I don’t care about that,” she whispered. “Please.”

He met her eyes, smiled, and kissed her again as his free hand trailed over her skin. It wasn’t doing anything particular, just stroking gently, almost tickling, over her ribs, her breasts, along her collarbone. His fingertips brushed her nipple, teasing gently, and she made a small, startled sound at the sensation.

Rumpelstiltskin lifted his lips from hers, worried, but she managed to smile at him, her fingers tangled in his hair.

“I’m all right,” she whispered. “Don’t stop.”

His lips returned to hers, and she wondered for the hundredth time how she could have gone without kissing for quite so long. It was pleasant, lazy, and when his hand ventured down her body, her caught breaths were echoed by his. 

He lifted his head to hold her gaze as his hand slipped beneath the waistband of her pyjama bottoms. His fingers were trembling as much as she was. He was afraid to hurt her, and that chased away any fear she had left. She bit her lip, nodded, and he didn’t look away from her as he touched her, sliding his fingers gently between her thighs.

Her breathing was unsteady, quivering, and she couldn’t look away from him. He was her anchor, her stability, and if she looked away, she knew the nightmares would crash in on her and she would freeze, so she couldn’t look away. She couldn’t and wouldn’t, and he was touching so gently, watching her face for her responses, and touching again, and again, and when he stroked within her with a single finger, so slow and gentle, she felt the tears on her face.

Her hands were shaking, but she drew his head down to kiss him. “You too,” she whispered. “Us.”

He gasped, soft, shaking. “Belle, we don’t have to…”

She nodded, smiling through fresh tears. “Want to.”

He drew away from her to turn onto his back against the pillows. “I won’t hold you down, love,” he said. “You can take the lead.”

Belle caught his hand, squeezed, turning onto her side to lean over and kiss him. She didn’t dare to look away from his face as she let her hand stroke down over his bare chest. He was thin, wiry, nothing like…

No. She wouldn’t think of those monsters. Not here. Not with him.

All the same, her hand faltered when she reached the waist of his pyjamas. His hand touched her wrist gently.

“Your choice,” he murmured.

“I-I know,” she whispered, kissing him again and slipping her hand between flesh and fabric. He was already hard, and her fingers quivered as she touched him. He made a small, needy sound in his throat, and his breath gusted over her lips.

“Gods, Belle…”

She moved her hand tentatively, her brow resting against his, her other hand resting on his shoulder. “You… show me?” she asked in a tremulous voice. “Show me how?”

He reached down blindly with one hand, pushing the waistband of the pyjamas lower. Their hands tangled, and she couldn’t be sure who laughed first as she relinquished her grip to help him shed the remainder of his clothing.

“You too,” he reminded her, tugging on the bow at the front of her own bottoms. 

Belle knelt up, blushing, and pushed them down over her hips, leaning down onto her side to kick them off, leaving them both naked as babes on the bed. He looked her over admiringly and she flushed. “What?”

“I was just wondering,” he said, “when you were… as you were in the Enchanted forest, did the scales go everywhere?”

She stared at him, then swatted his chest, giggling helplessly. “Yes. They did.”

He smiled. “Then I’m a little glad they’re gone,” he confided, leaning up on one arm. “I think they’d chafe a bit.”

If she hadn’t loved him before, she would have then, and she caught his face between her hands, kissing him. He leaned up, one hand pressing to her hip. 

“Show me,” she whispered against his lips.

He nodded, guiding her to kneel over him, and she couldn’t help notice his lame knee. This, she realised, was as much for him as for her. He wouldn’t pin her, and she wouldn’t hurt him, not by accident or on purpose if she could help it.

Her knees sank into the mattress on either side of him, and she caught herself, her hands braced on his chest. She could feel the heat of him, and it was there, and should have been frightening, but he was looking at her with such wonder in his eyes, such love.

“What now?” she asked, shifting back and shivering as he brushed against her. He gave a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows, earning another swat, and she knew she had to be blushing to scarlet. “How?”

He reached between their bodies, taking himself in hand, and looked up at her. “You’re sure?” She nodded, drawing a shaking breath. “Then lower yourself, love…”

She remembered pain. She remembered screaming. She remembered bleeding.

All of that was still there, clawing at her mind, but Rumpelstiltskin released himself to stroke her thigh comfortingly, as she slowly sank herself down onto him. 

“Breathe,” he said gently, as she fell forward, sprawling over his chest. He was within her, and she could feel him, and she was trembling, and sobbing quietly, and he didn’t move, didn’t turn her, didn’t pin her. His hand was in her hair, stroking, soothing. “It’s all right, Belle. It’s all right.”

She lifted her tear-sodden face to his and kissed him again and again. 

It pushed the fear back, and he touched her so carefully, guided her to move so gently, that the fear got smaller and tighter and further away, crowded out by warmth and pleasure and she was crying out softly for other reasons, holding onto him tight, breathing hard, their bodies hot and wet and pressing together and heat was roaring through her, such heat, blood rushing in her ears, and she threw back her head and he was looking at her like she was a goddess and she sobbed and caught his hands and held them tight as the pleasure peaked. 

When she tumbled down beside him, when she clung to him, when she waited for him to rise and leave her, Rumpelstiltskin just smiled and hauled the blankets up to wrap and around their sweat-dampened bodies.

“We’ll need to wash these in the morning,” he murmured, leaning over and switching off the light.

Belle stared blindly into the dark. “It’s your turn to do the laundry,” she whispered.

“As you wish,” Rumpelstiltskin whispered, and she could hear his smile.

She nestled closer to him, so warm and as pleasantly sticky as she was. “Maybe we’ll have to make sure they’re really messy first,” she suggested in a smaller whisper. “In the morning?”

She felt rather than heard the laugh. “I think we could do that,” he agreed.

Belle smiled and hugged him.


End file.
